


Do My Back?

by fringedweller



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-29
Updated: 2010-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 14:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringedweller/pseuds/fringedweller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He promised her the beach, damn it, and he was going to deliver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do My Back?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://seren-ccd.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://seren-ccd.livejournal.com/)**seren_ccd** for beta duties!

_**Doctor Who fic: Do My Back? NC-17**_  
Title: Do My Back?  
Author: [](http://fringedweller.livejournal.com/profile)[**fringedweller**](http://fringedweller.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Eleven/Amy  
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any profit from this.  
Warnings: None, except that I've hand-waved Rory away. Sorry, Rory.  
Summary: He promised her the beach, damn it, and he was going to deliver.  
Notes: Thanks to [](http://seren-ccd.livejournal.com/profile)[**seren_ccd**](http://seren-ccd.livejournal.com/) for beta duties!

  


  
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor tried as they entered the TARDIS. “Er. Grey is your colour?”

Amy didn’t say anything, just glared at him as a particularly large globule of thick, grey mud slid from her hair and landed on the floor. The TARDIS flashed its lights reproachfully at the mess.

The Doctor sighed. He couldn’t wriggle out of this one; he had made a mistake in his calculations and brought them down on the wrong planet. The tropical weather and beautiful landscape of the planet of Hocir had been replaced with howling gales and a thick, sticky mud that clung to everything, courtesy of the planet they had actually landed on, Namaz. The Doctor liked Namaz; the people were friendly, they made a special drink from the local mudflats that had to be tasted to be believed, and never once had the Namazians had to be rescued from Daleks, Cybermen, Slitheen, Ice Warriors, Autons or anything more serious than an infestation of tribbles. And even then the mud slowed the tribbles down so much that they were easy to round up.

No, the Doctor was fond of Namaz, although he would have to admit that he wouldn’t really want to live there. It was a pity that none of his companions had ever agreed with it. Jamie had complained about mud getting under his kilt, Sarah Jane had got sucked into a sink-hole and nearly drowned and Ace had flatly refused to leave the TARDIS and threatened to blow up his umbrella with nitro nine if he tried to make her. It appeared that Amy was no exception.

He had tried to suggest the annual Mud Festival as entertainment, but Amy hadn’t been too impressed. In fact, her lack of impressed-ness had been made quite clear to him as they had waded back to the TARDIS through the mud fields. After using language that would make a sailor blush (and just where had little Amelia Pond picked up such words, anyway?) he had been on the receiving end of the silent treatment, which was worse.

“Go shower,” he told her, wiping his own muddy hands on a towel that was hanging on a hook by the main console. “By the time you’ve finished, we’ll be at the beach.”

“You’d better be right this time,” she warned him.

“It’ll be sun, sea and sand all the way,” he promised, pulling a few levers, twisting the hot tap and engaging the blue boring-ers. She squelched away and he watched her retreating figure as she struggled out of her ruined jacket and shuddered as a new rivulet of mud crept along the length of her elegant neck. Then she was gone, and the TARDIS prodded him gently.

“Alright,” he muttered, “Point taken. I’m muddying up your floor.”

He headed off towards his room, dripping mud all the way.

The TARDIS sighed, and got on with cleaning the place up.

Amy hadn’t brought a bikini with her when she disappeared into the TARDIS and a whole other life. In fact, she hadn’t brought anything at all except a nightie. But the wardrobe room was amazing, and always provided her with the right clothes. Now was no exception.

There were racks and racks of swimsuits, from ancient Victorian creations that covered her from neck to ankle to skimpy thong bikinis. She actually went so far as to try one on, but it just felt like she had cheesewire riding up her arse, so she traded it for a green high-legged variety instead. The TARDIS also provided a sarong that she tied loosely around her waist and bag that was crammed with sunglasses, a towel, a big floppy hat and a Jilly Cooper she had never read before.

Perfect.

She perched the hat on her head, slid on a pair of sunglasses that looked like they cost more than her last electricity bill and posed in the mirror. Gorgeous, even if she did say so herself. As she made her way up to the Control Room, she spared a thought for what the Doctor would be wearing.

Speedos? Her mind recoiled. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have a nice body – yes, she had looked in the hospital, and no, it wasn’t bad at all – but there wasn’t a man alive that looked good in a banana hammock.

She didn’t think he’d be the type for any kind of lycra. Boxer-style, maybe? It was a possibility. Although anything too short would reveal his bandy legs, something that she found adorable about him, although she’d have to be tortured to reveal that fact.

Surf shorts, she decided. Long ones, down to the knee. That would help disguise the bandiness, and cover him up as much as possible. He seemed to have a thing about keeping himself covered up.

She hopped down the steps into the control room, but her planned “tah-dah!” and pirouette were stopped in their tracks.

“What are you wearing?” she demanded.

“Clothes,” he said, fidgeting with one of the TARDIS controls. He stole a glance out of the side of his eye, and then returned his attention to the console. “Which is more than can be said for you.”

“It’s the _beach_ ,” she said, as if speaking to a backwards infant. “You wear your bathers at the beach, not bow ties and braces.”

She leant forwards and pulled one of his braces so it snapped back. He swatted at her hands, and they wasted five minutes chasing each other around the console as she tried to pull his braces off and he tried to stop her.

The TARDIS eventually interrupted them, flashing her lights and making the familiar materialisation groan.

“We’re here!” the Doctor said gratefully, twisting out from underneath a determined Amy. “Last one on the beach is a rotten Slitheen egg!”

“What the hell’s a Slitheen egg?” Amy called as she chased him out of the doors and across the suddenly sandy landscape, but she soon lost interest in the answer.

It was a breathtaking view. The sand was as white as the stuff in the travel agent’s pictures, and so fine beneath her toes that it was like she was walking on talcum powder. Suitably azure waves rolled placidly onto the shore and the smell of tropical flowers drifted on a light breeze from a stand of trees a little way back from the beach.

And in the middle of all this exotic splendour stood the Doctor, his only concession to the location being the removal of his sensible brown shoes and the slight rolling up of his trousers. The tweed jacket remained, as did the bow tie and braces. Amy shook her head, amused.

“You’re over-dressed, you know,” she called as she unrolled her towel, untied her sarong and settled herself down.

“I am perfectly dressed for every occasion,” he called back, meandering towards her as if he had plenty of other things to occupy his attention on this deserted beach.

“Whatever,” she muttered, finding a bottle of what claimed to be factor 500 in the bag and squirting it liberally into her hand. “So, if you’re not planning a little sunbathing, what are you going to do?”

“Oh, you know. Stuff,” he elaborated, waving his hands around vaguely. “This planet hasn’t got any humanoid life, and there’s no animal life more dangerous than a badger, so you should be fine while I’m off…er. Doing…my….um…,”

He trailed off as she started to work the cream into her arms and neck, and then downwards over the generous expanse of cleavage she displayed.

“Stuff?” she offered, not paying him any attention as she pushed herself up onto her knees and began to massage the cream into her exposed abdomen and thighs.

“Stuff,” he agreed, backing away from her. “Don’t wander off, Pond.”

“Don’t worry, Doctor, I’ll be here. I’ve got Jilly and the sunshine, I won’t be going anywhere,” she promised.

He walked away as she pulled the book from the bag and opened it to the first page, and even though it appeared that she had all of her attention fixed on it, her large sunglasses hid the fact that she was tracking him as he ambled away. She didn’t miss the fact that he kept looking back over his shoulder at her, and that he actually stumbled when she shifted onto her side and stretched her legs out to their full length.

She smiled to herself, raising the book in front of her face to disguise it. He may not be human, but he was male. That was fine. Amy could work with that.

Amy lost track of the time fairly easily, but she knew that he hadn’t been gone for that long because there had only been three sex scenes in the Jilly Cooper book. Jilly Coopers had been the Amy’s entrance into the world of smutty literature, and she had a fondness for them even after she left them behind and went on to far raunchier authors. Yes, everyone in a Jilly Cooper novel shrieked a lot and seemed to have common-sense bypasses, but you knew where you were with Jilly.

Jilly was just working up to a good bit, where the secret illegitimate daughter of an Argentine polo player was about to be taken roughly over the desk of the classical music conductor she worked for while she wasn’t posing naked for the local hunky artist to make the rent on her tiny but exquisite cottage in the Cotswalds, when the Doctor came back and threw himself down next to her.

“Had enough yet?” he enquired.

“Not nearly,” muttered Amy, still engrossed. “He’s only just got her bra off.”

He was silent for a moment, and then he cleared his throat.

“So, want to go for a paddle?” he offered.

“No,” she said. “I’m reading.”

He made a dismissive noise, and she looked up from the book.

“And what was that for?” she demanded.

“It’s hardly literature,” he said, plucking the book from her hands. “I mean, I can’t see Dickens ever composing a sentence like ‘Arching her slender back, she thrust her luscious backside up, demanding that he take her roughly with his thrusting member.”

“Maybe not,” Amy countered, snatching the book back from a now blushing Doctor. ”But I bet his sales would have gone up if he did.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” the Doctor grinned at her.

“You do that,” Amy said, rolling onto her front, purposefully revealing her own slender back and luscious backside. “And while you’re there, tell him to get on and finish _Edwin Drood_. I want to know who killed him.”

She shot a sly look at the Doctor. “A-level English literature, thank you for not asking.”

Smug, she returned to her bonkbuster and read a few pages before she was interrupted again.

“You’re looking a bit pink,” the Doctor said in a determinedly casual voice.

Amy fumbled in her bag with one hand, found the bottle of lotion and thrust it in his general direction, never once taking her attention off the book.

“Do my back?” she asked, although really it was more of a command.

“Maybe you should go indoors,” he said hesitantly, fumbling the bottle of lotion. “You’re ginger. Gingers burn. You shouldn’t burn.”

“It’s factor 500,” she said sarcastically. “Even my delicate skin should be safe. Do my back.”

He sighed, apparently giving in, and Amy settled down on her stomach on the towel, pretending to be engrossed in Jilly Cooper again. She could hear him muttering under his breath, and then, a minute later, a solid _thunk_ that could only be a heavy tweed jacket hitting the sand. The beach was so quiet that she even heard the tiny popping noises that the buttons on his cuffs made as he rolled up his sleeves.

Excitement began to pool low in her stomach at the thought of his hands, so big and strong smoothing the lotion into her bare skin. For all his habits of grabbing her by the hand and dropping little kisses onto her forehead, he never touched her bare skin, even when she deliberately left great swathes of it open and available. Now she had him, though. There was no way he could get out of this.

She lay the book face down on the sand, earning her a disapproving noise from the Doctor, protector of paperbacks, even the smutty ones. The disapproving noise soon turned into a strange gargle when her fingers found the ends of her bikini straps and pulled the loose knot away.

“I don’t want any tan lines,” she said airily. “Go on then. When you’re ready.”

She may have been slightly overconfident; she was having so much fun pushing the Doctor outside of his comfort zone that she didn’t think about how easily he could affect her.

She had to stifle a squeak when he dropped down from above, straddling her body. His knees gripped her body firmly, trapping her arms to her side.

“This is probably the easiest way to do this,” he said casually, as if having a practically naked Amy between his thighs was an everyday occurrence.

“Okay!” she replied, with only the barest hint of squeak in her voice.

The coldness of the lotion hitting her back from above made her hiss, and he seemed to take pleasure in dragging it out as long as possible, dribbling the liquid in a seemingly random pattern all along the length of her back.

“Cold?” he asked pleasantly as he finished dropping the liquid with a flourish.

“No, no, it’s lovely,” lied Amy. “What are you doing up there, drawing a picture?”

“Writing my name,” the Doctor said, with an air of concentration. “Shut up and keep still, otherwise I’ll never get my middle name to fit.”

“You have a middle name?” Amy said to distract herself from the thought of a determined Doctor straddling her nearly-naked body. “Wait, you have a first name?”

“Of course I do,” the Doctor said disparagingly. “Everyone does. My parents didn’t look at me nine hundred years ago and say, ‘Oh a boy, how lovely, we’ll call him The Doctor.’ It’s not like Time Lords went around with names like The Plumber or The Man Who Does Odd Jobs In Exchange For A Few Quid, No Questions Asked.”

“Well?” Amy demanded.

“Well what?” he replied, finishing with a flourish. “And stop fidgeting Pond, I’ve warned you once already.”

“ _Well,_ ” Amy said heavily. “What’s your name, Doctor?”

“Not telling you,” he said airily, throwing the bottle of lotion down carelessly by the side of him. “It creates an air of mystery and drama.”

“Because that’s clearly what we’re missing from our lives,” Amy muttered sarcastically, and then stopped as the Doctor’s fingers made contact with her skin.

She didn’t know if it was a Time Lord thing, or if there was something in the lotion that made her skin more sensitive, or if she was just hyper-aware of his touch. But the moment that he began to massage the cool cream into her skin, her body started to respond. Trails of heat flashed up and down her spine as his fingers pushed deep into the muscles of her back. She tried to stifle the groan of pleasure, but it slipped out.

“Hitting the spot?” he asked, and she didn’t have to turn around and look at him to know that he was smirking.

She writhed under him a little, trying to relieve the pressure that was building up between her legs.

“Just getting comfortable,” she managed. “Get on with it.”

He huffed out a laugh under his breath, and continued with his massage. His fingers skated lazily over the surface of her skin, cupping her shoulders and trailing along her arms, then switching to the small of her back, just above her remaining clothing. He dug in deep with his thumbs there, rotating them lazily as she keened beneath him,

She had abandoned any pretence of hiding the affect his touch had on her; there was no way that she could hide how her breath was coming in short pants and gasps, and she had always been a noisy lover. A quick thrust up with her hips confirmed her suspicion that she wasn’t the only one affected; he had also stopped his pretence and was now grinding his hardness against the swell of her backside.

“Please,” she managed, before his hands swept across the expanse of her back and slipped down over her ribs, teasing the soft skin of the underside of her breasts with the pads of his fingers.

He shifted position over her, leaning forward and bracing his weight on one arm so he could whisper directly into her ear.

“What?” he asked, nibbling gently at her earlobe as he continued to tease her breast. “What do you want, Amy Pond?”

“Oh God, _everything_ ,” Amy breathed, and he laughed, a deep delighted sound that had Amy squirming desperately beneath him.

“Everything could take a long time,” he warned her, his fingers finding a nipple and squeezing it with just right amount of pressure to cause the lightning bolts of pleasurable pain that Amy loved so damn much.

“S’ok,” she panted, sucking in a breath as she pushed her backside up and writhed against him, scoring a guttural moan in return. “I know a mad man with a box that can sort that right out.”

The pressure on her body shifted, and he sat up, dragging her with him. She tried to turn, but his large hands on her waist kept her firmly in place as he began to worship the skin on her neck and shoulders with his lips and teeth. She dropped her head towards the sand obediently, and he kissed his way further down her spine, tasting her skin and forcing sounds of agonised pleasure from her. She planted her hands firmly in the sand to keep herself upright as he backed away from her slightly, all the time keeping his lips in contact with the skin of her back.

He reached the bottom of her spine, and she had to catch her breath when she felt his teeth tugging at the bikini bottoms she wore. She wiggled her hips impatiently and felt a gust of hot air across her inner thigh as he snorted with laughter. She was distracted by the pull of his soft lips across the skin on her backside; she didn’t notice his fingers slip underneath the material and start to play gently with the curls he found there. She gasped, and he took the opportunity to slide one, then two long fingers into her moist opening. She knew what he was aiming for and wished him well with it; she’d never been able to find that elusive g-spot herself. But nine hundred years had obviously taught him a thing or two, because after a few minutes she began to pant uncontrollably and feel the most exquisite pressure building deep inside her. The Doctor played with her for what seemed to be an age as he worked her bikini bottoms off. He threw them away with a triumphant “Hah!” that made them both giggle.

She was gathered up again, one of his hands cupping her mound firmly, two fingers still flexing and rubbing inside her, one hand across her breasts, cupping and squeezing first one, then the other.

She had her back to him, and he laid down kisses on her neck as she moaned and writhed against his clothed body. He had rolled back his shirtsleeves, but the braces and the bow tie remained, as well as his shirt, fully buttoned, and his trousers, now impressively tented. She snaked a hand down her body to tease herself, and the sight of her pleasuring herself so wantonly made him growl possessively in her ear.

He was kissing her with hot, open-mouthed kisses, their necks at awkward angles, as she came the first time. She could feel herself tighten around his fingers and release a flood of liquid that trickled down his palm and dripped onto the sand beneath them. She let out an honest-to-God scream as her entire body tensed in anticipation of what was to come, then spasmed, making her shake with the intensity of it all.

She sunk back into his arms, head swimming from the level of pleasure she had just experienced, far and away the best orgasm of her life. She felt his lips on her hairline briefly before he moved, repositioning her onto her hands and knees. She groaned as he pulled away, and waited impatiently for him to pull down his zipper.

She didn’t have long to wait; he slid into her smooth wetness, filling her completely. She knew the picture they must make; a wanton, naked woman being taken thoroughly and completely from behind by an almost fully-clothed man. It would look like he was the master and she was the supplicant, but his urgent, forceful thrusts told the opposite story, as did the muttered words of endearment that spilled from his lips unbidden and uncontrolled.

He spilled into her just as he managed to coax one more orgasm from her sated body. A smaller one, less intense than the first, but one that still managed to blur her vision and make her howl. He slumped down over her, trapping her underneath him.

“Mmmm.” Amy yawned, contented.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” the Doctor asked, sounding vaguely aggrieved.

“That’s all I _can_ say,” Amy said, shutting her eyes. “That’s a compliment, by the way.”

“Well,” the Doctor preened. “You do pick up a few things after nearly a complete millennia rattling around the universe.”

“You’re not naked,” Amy groused, shutting her eyes. “I’m naked.”

“I noticed,” the Doctor replied, smoothing the line of her jaw with his thumb. “I like you naked.”

“So, a little reciprocity would be nice,” she said, kissing his thumb and pulling it into her mouth to suck suggestively.

“Reciprocity. Nice word,” the Doctor gulped as she grazed his thumb with her teeth. “Bet you didn’t find that in your Jilly Cooper.”

“Don’t change the subject. Naked, now,” Amy ordered, swallowing another yawn.

Grumbling, he pulled away for a few moments then returned, his naked front now pressed fully along the length of her back. Amy sighed contentedly as his lips returned to her hair and his hand slipped along the curve of her hip to rest possessively on her waist.

“Happy?” he asked

All he got in return was a light snore that she would deny to her dying breath. Smiling to himself he gathered her closer against him, closed his eyes and listened to the gentle swish of the waves on the beach. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, he reasoned.

  
“Ow!”

“You’re being such a baby about this,” Amy tutted as she tried to dab at his skin with the aloe vera ointment the TARDIS had thoughtfully provided.

“This wouldn’t have happened if I had kept my clothes on,” he sulked, dodging out of her way.

“A lot of things wouldn’t have happened if you kept your clothes on,” she reminded him archly.

“Yeah,” he said, a goofy look briefly taking over his features before the pout came back. “They were good things. But this, Pond, _this_ , is not a good thing."

He gestured at the length of his body, badly affected by a nasty case of sunburn. Amy, in comparison, was as almost pale as she had been before they landed on the beach.

“Well, this bottle said that it would soothe damaged skin,” Amy said, wrinkling her nose as she read the back of the bottle. A devilish twinkle in her eyes appeared as she hefted it thoughtfully in her hand.

“Why don’t we take this somewhere a little more…horizontal?” she suggested. “It’s only fair, after all. You did my back. I’ll do yours.”

The Doctor grinned. “I suppose that’s…fair,” he allowed. “After you.”

Amy turned around and sashayed away, green bikini in place, for now. On her back, pale Gallifrayan symbols stood out against the gentle suntan she had acquired. The Doctor sent a mental plea to the TARDIS to get rid of any long mirrors from Amy’s room.

A bellow from further down the corridor made him wince.

Ah. Too late.


End file.
